


Taco Daddy

by ussgallifrey



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Food Trucks, Puns & Word Play, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:27:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23226310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ussgallifrey/pseuds/ussgallifrey
Summary: While owning a successful food truck might not seem like a glamorous career choice, it’s one you take great pride and joy in. That is until a new vendor rolls in and wins over your customers. It doesn’t help that he talks so sweet either.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	Taco Daddy

**Author's Note:**

> Accompanying story playlist: _[here]()_.

The market square is busy with the anticipation of the hour as patrons milling about start to form into queues. The kitchen has been buzzing to life with the heat of the griddle bringing a sheen of sweat to everyone’s brows. The prep work is finished, the batter ready, the fruit chopped. You straighten the styrofoam containers one last time, positioning the stickered tip jar just so before the windows are opened.

You had already written down the ever-changing menu for the day on the boards outside. Just counting down the minutes till opening under the cover of a bubblegum sky.

Business had been good; almost from the start. Hitting a near sweet-note when the Butter My Biscuits opened for business - just before the big trend of food trucks became popular. You were already established within the community, recommended and highly rated for all things breakfast food.

And it worked perfectly in your favor - attracting the early morning crowds, the brunch-goers, and oddly enough the late-night bingers. And it was original. Where most of your neighbors were burger-oriented (Toasted Buns Bus) or pizza-based (Knead My Dough).

You made the savory and the sweet. A perfect balance the other trucks hadn’t quite managed to hit just yet. All the better for business, in your mind.

Saturday mornings brought out the families and the people who actually hadn’t gone to bed yet. For which you offered the always-on-the-menu: Glazed and Confused. Which was just a mix of scrambled eggs, shredded cheddar, sausage, bacon, and maple syrup squished between two glazed donuts. It was obscenely popular with the college crowd.

Everything had been going so smoothly. 

Everything had been going just fine and dandy.

And then a new truck pulled up across the lot. 

That’s when everything changed.

* * *

Business dwindled slowly, unusually so, before you even took notice of the sleek new truck. Completely black except for the crisp white paint that read **Macho Tacos** on the side, which was seemingly coming out of the mouth of a painted wolf. Howling its presence to everyone that it was here and it meant business.

Gaping helplessly as your remaining customer wanders over to the new vendor, you yank on Wanda’s arm. Wordlessly pointing out the window.

“I’ve never seen them before,” she says.

Pietro perks up from the griddle, wiping his hands on his low-hanging apron as he peers around you and his sister.

“Too flashy,” he surmises. 

You bite your lip, watching the way everyone in the market seems to be drawn towards the black truck.

“Yeah, flashy or not they’ve got everyone’s attention.”

And that meant trouble.

* * *

Waiting for the line to die down, which takes an obnoxiously long time after the new truck opens up - obviously targeting the lunch crowd more than anything - and with your own customers dropping down into abysmal numbers, you finally take action.

“I’m going over,” you announce loudly to your two coworkers as you untie your apron.

Wanda slides up next to her brother, “Someone seems nervous.”

“Oh, no,” he chides with a glint. “She’s entirely sure we’re doomed. Better pack up shop while we can.”

The apron is shoved onto the counter with more force than what’s really necessary for such an action.

“You two,” you point. “Can laugh it up all you want. If we got some real competition, then I want to know about it.”

With a final challenging look, you open the side door and march across the lot to see what Macho Tacos is all about.

As you reach the back of the line, you can’t make out the vendors themselves, but you can hear a distinct baritone chuckling and the smell? Oh god, it’s absolutely heavenly. 

It’s far worse than you expected.

They fly through the customers with ease. And the people are barely making it to the tables before they start devouring the food. It’s only when you reach the front of the line that you realize you haven’t even glanced at their menu or prices.

“Mornin’,” a man greets from above you, hanging leisurely from the window with an easy smile.

“Uh,” your voice isn’t more than a squeak. “ _Hi_.”

“Somethin’ I can get you, darlin’?”

You quickly glance down at their magnetic menu board for something, while another voice rings out from the truck.

“Dude, you’ve got to stop with the flirting.”

“I’m just talking here, Barnes. Nothing more to it than good old fashioned customer service.”

“Yeah, well keep it up - ” the voice becomes clearer as the second man walks over to the window, “ - and see how long we’ll be allowed back.”

It’s only then that he glances down at you. Bright blue eyes and a shadow of stubble on his face as a slow smile tugs at his lips.

“Can I help you, sugar?”

The other man gives him a look, “Oh, _I_ can’t talk to people like _that_ , but suddenly _you_ can just say whatever you want to whoever - ”

The blue-eyed man seems to shove him back towards the interior of the truck as he leans on the edge of the counter with an all too-friendly smile. 

“Hi.”

Why is he looking at you like you’re dessert? His gaze is ravishing and too much and yet not enough all at once. And what are you saying? He’s a stranger. And more than that, he’s clearly competition.

“Uh, _hi_. First time at the market?”

His smile is wide and toothy, a tongue peaks out to swipe at his lips very _very_ slowly.

“Here? Yeah. Heard it was a good spot.”

“It is,” you reply smoothly, trying very hard not to focus on his face and the alluring features that made it impossible to look away from.

He stares for a moment too long with another swipe of his tongue.

“Were you looking for something to eat, or…?” he lets it trail off with a blaring question left unsaid. 

You’re quick to straighten up, squaring your shoulders back as you try to hide your long game with a flirtatious smile.

“Chef’s choice?”

That earns a wicked smile as he says something to the other man over his shoulder. Then he just continues leaning out of the window and smiling at you. It’s difficult, waiting for the earth to swallow you up, but, by god, do you wish it would.

After a moment, the food is set by the counter and you reach for your money clip, but he just shakes his head and hands you the styrofoam container with another smug smile.

“Please, let me pay for it.”

He shakes his head again as he insistently holds the food for you to take.

“You come here often?”

Oh, his eyes are so brilliant in the sunlight. They’re impossible to look away from.

“Every weekend, yes.”

There’s a shrug to his shoulders as he shoves the box your way one last time. “Then this one’s on the house, sugar.”

Reluctantly, you take it from him as you somehow know this isn’t an argument he’ll likely back down from.

He gives a finger salute wave your way as you walk backwards a few shy steps, before making a straight line across the lot to your truck.

Sam moves around Bucky as they watch you enter the pink truck. Slapping the towel down on the other man’s shoulder as he chastises, “You’re a damn idiot.”

Bucky smiles.

* * *

It only worsens from there. To say their food was amazing would be a gross understatement. Even the twins were left a little awestruck by the pork tacos, enchiladas, and rice. It was damn unfair is what it was.

And, as if to add insult to injury, they’re at the Friday Block Party on Ventura as well. It took you _months_ to get invited for that, and here they were like it was no big deal.

That was your biggest selling night and you saw maybe a fifth of your usual sales. Finding a wrap-around line for a certain black truck with a white wolf and two men laughing and flirting away with almost everyone who was there.

It was painful. Stupidly painful.

All it managed to do, as you emptied the barely used tip jar, was make you _seethe_.

* * *

Saturday is market day again. Where you find yourself preparing earlier than usual, working under the technicolor sunrise of a warm morning. Carefully writing out your weekly menu with large bubblegum blue and pink chalk markers.

• _Attack of the Scones_

\- raspberry almond milk scones with a rebellious vanilla glaze (2)

• _Back to the Frittata_

\- slice of bacon, spinach, tomato, and swiss cheese frittata (uranium not included)

• _Planet of the Crepes_

\- otherworldly treat stuffed with mixed berries, cream cheese, and a blueberry sauce (3)

They’re all added to your more classic go-tos. But you hope it’s enough to bring in the customers.

Your knees ache when you stand up, ready to help Wanda and Pietro with the last minute prep, but you spot the new vendors across the lot, starting their own setup. The blue-eyed man sees you and smiles with a wave. You turn on your heel and return to your kitchen.

* * *

You were almost out of donuts for Glazed & Confused and Holes (the movie, not the book). Not to mention, the crepes were flying off the griddle almost faster than you could decorate and package them. But that was good because it meant business was booming like always.

The distinctive _tap tap_ of a customer’s hand against the window has you sliding your last container Wanda’s way, rushing to fill the last few orders.

“Mornin’! What can I get ya?”

It’s only when the words finish leaving your mouth that you realize, with an ounce of horror, just who’s at your window.

He smiles up at you - a little lopsided - with his hands shoved into his dark jean pockets. Sleeves rolled up on his open plaid button-down, showcasing his ridiculously chiseled forearms. A black apron folded in half, sitting low on his hips.

You couldn’t stop gaping if you tried.

“Hey, sugar,” he greets with relaxed ease. “Figured I needed to see what _you_ were all about.”

There’s not a chance in breakfast hell that you’re capable of responding in this moment as you stare at the grey t-shirt on view that seems to hug his torso muscles in a cheap romance novel fantasy-like way.

He hums for a moment, bending down slightly to look over the menu with his bottom lip between his teeth, “Hmm. Guess I’ll take… Waffling Heights and a thing of - ” he smirks before looking back up at you, “ - Good Will Home-fries.”

“You got it,” you try _very_ hard to focus on the order and not the orderer. 

It takes a minute for the waffles and thick-cut potatoes to finish up before you and Wanda are able to top and serve them.

Pietro _kindly_ adds, “Make sure he pays for it, we’re not in the charity business.”

“Ironic that you’ve been giving that girl with the pink hair all those _generous_ samples then, isn’t it?” Wanda teases, swiping up a strawberry for herself.

He’s still waiting there patiently, with that ever-present stupid smile on his face.

“That’s seven, even.”

He nods, flipping open a leather wallet and handing over a ten. When you give him the change, he just tucks it right into your tip jar before grabbing the two containers of food. And then, he has the gall to just stand there right in front of the window and start chowing down on it with the plastic fork.

Not that there was a line of waiting customers now that the day was dying down. But the principle of the matter! When you had perfectly nice seating just off to the side, with striped pink umbrellas too! Even Chow Hound didn’t have actual seating!

“Mmm,” he closes his eyes with a sinful moan that seems a little more dramatic than what’s entirely necessary. “This is _real_ good, sugar.”

“Erm, thanks.”

He dips his finger into the whipped cream and actually _sucks it off his fingertip_. Followed by another low moan as he pulls a strawberry to his lips.

Licking his fingers clean, it seems that he realizes you’ve been shamelessly watching from the window. With a coy smile, he innocently asks, “Sweet tooth?”

You smooth your hands over the counter for lack of anything better to focus your attention on, “Something like that.”

The fact that Wanda and Pietro are openly staring in your peripheral and probably waiting for a blackmail-worthy moment only increases that anxious vice-like feeling holding itself over your throat.

He nods, “It’s good. Got a sweet thing myself. So, this right here? Filling that craving for me, sugar.”

What do you say to that? _Oh, happy I could assist with your needs?_ God, was this guy even real? Or did he just waltz out of the trashy novel section with the sole purpose of pestering you?

“Well,” he closes the container’s lid. “If you ever need a little spice, you know where to find me.”

He nods his head towards his truck, but to be honest - you’re not entirely sure if that’s what he was referring to, or…

Your cheeks warm with a flustered blush.

It’s even worse when he walks away because you can’t find it in yourself to look away from his well-defined back and that ass. It’s completely unbecoming and so not you, but he seemed to have a looming effect on you. Which was even more ridiculous when you realized you didn’t even know his name.

When you turn around, there must be some kind of look on your face because it has Pietro giving out a low whistle and half-whispering to his sister, “Think someone’s about to do some brainstorming.”

Which was true, very true. Good for business. But with the sole intention of crushing _any_ competition, attractive taco vendor or otherwise.

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted on my [Tumblr](https://ussgallifreyfics.tumblr.com).


End file.
